Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
I put my fingers on the keys again for one more try.
Marcus Waterstone is an asshole, and I don’t like him.
Nope. I’ve completely lost the plot now.
Closing the laptop, I get up from the kitchen counter, walk a handful of steps over to the bed, throw back the covers, and fall in. I pull the sheet and comforter up over my head, close my eyes, and find the whole sorry situation playing itself over in the theater of my mind.
I find myself lingering on the memory of what it felt like to be handled by him. He’s so strong. It’s quite normal for a man to be stronger than a woman, but I’ve never been touched by someone who has that much latent power. It felt as though he could throw me around any way he liked. I was entirely helpless, not just physically, but mentally. Something about the way he spoke to me.
He’s just a rich asshole, I remind myself. Charisma is usually a bad sign in my experience. Good people don’t need it, and bad people almost always have an abundance of it. The fact that I’m thinking about him even though I hate him is a sign I’m falling under his spell. Hopefully tonight was just a weird one-off for him, because I don’t know what I’ll do if I do see him again for some reason.
In the midst of all of these thoughts, my hand has slid down between my thighs, and my fingers have found a part of my anatomy that shouldn’t be as wet as it is. I ache in the places he touched me. My pussy is so tender and so sore. I feel as though touching myself is wrong—but I’m allowed to touch myself, of course. There’s no way for anybody to know what I’m doing, which means it’s fine to do it. It’s not even more shameful now, to be touching myself to the memory of the worst thing that has ever happened to me.
Marcus
Marcus Waterstone is an asshole, and I don’t like him.
I smirk at the screen as I read my new pet’s assessment of me. Of course I’m nowhere near her little apartment, but that doesn’t mean I’m not keeping tabs on her.
I know what she wrote because Charlie’s laptop is mirrored on one of my screens. I also have her social media accounts on another window, and a readout of her bank account tucked away on another. It’s all a terrible invasion of privacy, I suppose, but she doesn’t have privacy anymore. Not since I decided to make her mine.
She’s petulant after her spanking and her first fucking, but that’s to be expected. She doesn’t know how to take discipline. She’s precocious and spoiled, temperamental and generally intriguing.
A soft buzz heralds communication from my driver.
“Go ahead,” I say, accepting his call.
“Would you like me to keep watching, sir? I think she’s gone to bed.”
“Yes, Henry. Stay there a little while longer. I’m still compiling her profile.”
“Maxwell’s not doing it?”
“This is a special case.”
Maxwell is the man who usually handles my private investigation work. He compiles complete dossiers on anybody I’m interested in, personally or professionally.
Henry doesn’t reply. He’ll do what I ask, I can be sure of that. I only have loyal men working for me. Men who know how to follow orders and keep their mouths shut. They are remunerated handsomely for their discretion.
I cannot stop thinking about Charlie, the way her eyes flashed at me when she scrambled up from the bar. She looked at me like a wild beast resentful of my effort to tame her. That’s not a normal response.
I’ve spanked and fucked a lot of naughty girls in my time, and I know how to make them sorry. Charlie wasn’t sorry. She was something else entirely.
“I’ll organize a replacement for you so you can get home,” I tell him.
What I don’t tell him is that I’ll be the replacement.
CHAPTER 4
Charlie
I wake up with a throbbing butt. Last night I was pretty sure he hadn’t left any marks on me whatsoever, but today I can feel a certain aching whenever I move and certainly whenever I lie on my back. I don’t know how he managed to spank me sore without leaving a mark, but then again, he probably knows how to do an infinite number of terrible things without leaving evidence behind.
“Fucking asshole,” I mumble to myself, still half-asleep.
“Language, young lady.”
The scream that escapes my lips is enough to shatter glass, or it would be if the glass in my apartment wasn’t the kind that’s mostly plastic.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
I sit bolt upright to discover that Marcus Waterstone is standing in my apartment, somewhere between the kitchen and the bedroom, which is the same place. My butt aches as I sit there, staring at him in shock. I truly never thought I would see this man ever again, and here he is, standing in his fancy designer bespoke attire, looking at me with a twist of his lips that denotes dark amusement.